


Eyes of a Child

by orphan_account



Category: Death Note
Genre: Drama, Gen, General, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 14:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watari's early impressions of L.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes of a Child

Originally posted on 10/09/12.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Death Note_.

Eyes of a Child

Lawliet had strange eyes.

Watari had noticed this the moment he first saw him, sitting awkwardly on a chair and sucking his thumb. The boy's hair looked like it had not been cut in some time, and the dark tresses flopped untidily over his brow and about his bony shoulders. His eyes peered from beneath the thick fringe, blue-black and unusually misty, and it took a while before Watari realised the problem: the eyes looked dead. And surely, with his parents buried and his house shattered, the child was broken.

Watari knelt close, at which the boy shrank further into the chair and closed his eyes. The man smiled and said, holding out a hand. "I am Watari. I will be your new guardian." Most children adored Watari, and with good reason; he was a tender, warm person; it was hard not to like him. Lawliet, however, clenched a small fist and said, "I hate you. I hate everyone." This was expected. Watari made no reply, and stood up.

He took the boy to Wammy's House with the promise that he was bright and eager to learn. The child's elderly uncle did not want him, and the cousin who was willing to take him in was in no shape to take care of him as she suffered from bad arthritis.

Lawliet was certainly broken, but not a practical corpse. He was very much alive, and hyper at that. He was not the sort of child who would cry loudly over some silly trifle or run around brandishing a truncheon, but he would have trouble sleeping and often stayed up till some hours past midnight. Watari suspected that this had something to do with the Lawliet's almost disturbing love for sugar, but eventually realised that the boy would have stayed awake if he were fed nothing but bread and water all day.

For all his quirks, Lawliet was, in fact, remarkably intelligent. He solved mathematical equations meant for children four years his elder, and read books that many would not have heard of even in high school. He despised working in teams, preferring to lock himself in his small but comfortable bedroom to study. He was obsessed with puzzles and mysteries, and read several novels pertaining to these subjects. Watari was deeply impressed, and decided that taking him in was a good idea; the boy was a veritable genius even among the most gifted children there.

Watari, however, eventually found that not everything about the boy was to be admired. He could be incredibly rude, and at times showed a lack of empathy that was unusual among children his age. He would sit with his feet on the chair or the table, would throw temper tantrums if he was denied sweets, chewed his nails in public, and did nearly everything else that would be considered impolite by any self-respecting Englishman.

Once, about three months into Lawliet's acceptance into Wammy's House, when he had been in the rectangular playground, a fair-haired boy some three summers old came up to him and, for no apparent reason, snatched away the plastic trowel Lawliet had been using to carefully cover up a hole in the ground. Watari was watching from a window in his chamber, a cup of tea in his hand, and thought little of this; children were wont to be irrational and rude.

The shock came when the fair boy took a look at Lawliet's oddly composed and somewhat bemused face, and started to cry.

Watari had looked on with concern as Lawliet swept his large eyes from the child's hands, still holding the trowel, to his face, which was a bright, unattractive red. Lawliet did not try either to comfort him or to further aggravate him; he merely stared at him through his hair. It took a moment before Watari understood that the child was afraid of Lawliet. While it was an uncomfortable thought, it was nonetheless true; few if any took a liking to the strange, dark boy with his singular habits and disquieting gaze.

Later, Watari called Lawliet into his room, though he knew it would do no good to talk with him. The boy stood before his desk, scratching his ankle with his other foot's toes, his hands jammed into his trouser-pockets. He looked eerie in the pale morning light, his hair no fairer and his eyes no lighter.

"Lawliet," began Watari haltingly, "I must talk with you about your...mannerisms."

Lawliet merely looked back at him, his face a blank mask.

"You know I care about you, child," the man continued, "but sometimes you can be a bit frightening."

The boy ran a hand briskly through his hair, though it did nothing to make it tidier. Watari tried desperately, albeit patiently, to make Lawliet understand that what was acceptable to him was not acceptable to others, and that he needed to change. It yielded poor results. Lawliet remained dispassionate as ever, staring out with his dark, dark eyes.

A fortnight later, when a similar incident occurred, this time including a girl of five and a mud-pie, Watari had roamed about the orphanage, searching for Lawliet. He could no longer let the boy's strangeness lie. He would take him to a doctor, yes, or to one of those psychologists, arrogant as they were – so long as Lawliet changed. It made no matter. He rarely lost his temper with a child, especially one as gifted as Lawliet, but the boy's presence was a disturbance to the rest of the children.

At length Watari found him, sitting among the roots of a gnarled willow tree at the edge of the estate, making patterns on the ground with his fingers. The boy's back was to him, and Watari marched up with a sigh, and took the boy's shoulder. "Lawliet," he said sternly, "come with me."

"No," he mumbled.

"Lawliet," said Watari, with more force than he had intended, "you are coming me. I am taking you to see a doctor. You are so peculiar!" He jerked the boy's shoulder so that they were facing each other, and started; the child's face was wet with tears, and more were seeping from his eyes. Watari let go of his shoulder; he had never seen Lawliet weep before. The boy was usually so impassive and cool that others, including Watari, had subconsciously concluded that he did not feel any pain.

Watari pursed his lips, guilt tearing at his heart as he watched the boy blink, looking hurt and puzzled. Lawliet pressed his lips together, then said in a cracked voice, "Do I have to change? Do I have to see a doctor? I'm sorry if I'm strange...I'm sorry..." And he began to sob, his shoulders shaking.

"Oh," said Watari softly, at a loss for what to do. "Oh, child." He grasped the boy's upper arms, gently. "Now," he said, "you do not have to go to any doctor. Stop crying now, Lawliet – you are breaking my heart." He was filled with pity as he watched the boy wipe his eyes with a long sleeve, sniffling. Watari thought, "He is so very odd – no – different. I cannot treat him as a liability. He is a brilliant child." He added the last thought to convince himself of their words, but found himself believing them anyway.

It made no matter – Lawliet never cried again. At least, not when Watari was present.

As Lawliet grew up, he remained almost the same. Greyish bruises formed beneath his eyes at the tender age of twelve, and remained there ever after. He still wore shabby, tattered clothes that often made people mistake him for a tramp, and his hair still looked like a thicket of brambles. His movements were clumsy and abrupt, and he held things delicately in his long thin hands. And his eyes were still fey, fey as the disturbing huddles of gargoyles that perched on the grey walls of Notre Dame.

* * *

"I should like to become a detective."

Watari looked up from the papers at his desk and said, "Oh?" They were sitting in a room with pink-and-gold floral wallpaper and opulent Victorian carpets that looked as if they would have cost more than a child's school education. Afternoon light streamed in from tall, latticed windows and fell on their faces.

"Yes," replied Lawliet, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading. Watari was not surprised at this statement; Lawliet had always been the best at solving riddles and puzzles, most of which even Watari could not make head or tail of. The two had grown very close over the years, and spent much of their free time together. This was, in fact, not very often, since Watari always had paperwork and Lawliet was always busy improving his mind, or so he said.

The tower clock struck one, making Watari start slightly so that his pen accidentally made a blue mark on his page.

"I hope to become the best in the world. There is so much suffering everywhere – I want to end it as best as I can." Lawliet was fifteen, an age when most boys did not concern themselves with the world's problems and instead focused on their studies or on finding girlfriends. Watari was sure Lawliet did his fair share of staring at pretty women or thinking inappropriate thoughts, though the boy never admitted it.

Watari arched a fine grey eyebrow as he realised that Lawliet could be attractive if he wanted to. The youth was tall and slender, and while his eyes still seemed to shine with a light that was not from their world, his hair was thick and dark, and he maintained a high athletic ability despite his seemingly sedentary lifestyle. If he cut his hair and got enough sleep, mused Watari, he would probably be one of the more good-looking boys around. Then again, there was the weird posture and the unwashed clothes and the almost spidery movements, so perhaps not.

"You are staring at me, old friend," said Lawliet in a lazy drawl, flipping another page. "Why? I'm not even eating."

"You've grown up," said Watari mildly.

Lawliet raised his brows. "I'm afraid not," he returned. "I am still very stubborn and childish and retain the obstinacy of a four-year-old."

Watari could not argue with that, though he knew there was more to Lawliet than just that. The boy was, in his heart, tender and kind, with aching pity for people and a deep, raw loneliness that could not be cured unless by some miracle. He never showed this; he covered his true self with a mask that was cold and somewhat ruthless, and to most people did not possess any human emotions save irritation.

"Well," Watari said cheerfully, "I'm sure you will fulfill your dream."

Lawliet smiled a little like a vampire. "I am, too."

And Watari laughed softly, resting his cheek on his hand.

* * *

Light grinned as he held the dying man in his arms. L's eyes were open wider than usual, and were clearer than they had ever been before. Light waited for some kind of recognition to come into them, for them to say, "You are Kira. I always knew it, and I know it now."

But that did not happen. L's eyes seemed to go far into the past; a past which, even Light could guess, was not what the usual child would wish for.

Lawliet saw many things; the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, the children crying, Wammy's House...

Was this not what he had wanted? He knew that, if he became a detective, he would die early. But he had never truly believed it. Not until he met Light Yagami and found a match in luck and intellect.

But Watari...dear, dear Watari. Lawliet had never told the man how much he loved him. Now he deeply regretted his distaste for revealing emotions.

His vision grew dark, and for the first time, Lawliet did not know what he was getting into.

His eyes closed permanently as he died in the arms of the friend who had killed him.

* * *

**Note: I know Light did not technically kill L, but he definitely planned the murder. That's as bad as the murder itself, in my opinion.**

**Lawliet - L's real name**


End file.
